It's bad. Sean wasn't expecting a walk in the park, naturally, but as he cautiously peers out past the edge of the last building in the row that he can use for cover, it still manages to strike him just how bad it is. About a dozen or so soldiers are firing on their own truck, behind which he can only assume Sabretooth and Silver Fox are pinned down. If that were it, it would be manageable, but before Sean has the chance to get over and loudly defuse the situation, a group of four start stupidly advancing on the truck, and Creed's not about to sit on his laurels while he waits for them.
So much for not killing anybody, Sean thinks, wincing to himself as he enters the fray too late to keep Creed from appearing and tearing out the throat of the nearest Russian soldier with that ridiculous manicure of his. A blow to the head plainly snaps the neck of a second, even as the other two punch a whole lot of holes in his hide with their rifles. There's nothing to do but leave them to his wrath, though, since Sean's garnering attention of his own, now, by the group still assembled loosely by the refueling station that Team X had evidently been going for.
He screams, blowing a pair of them back off their feet, though only one of them stays down. Then he's on the defensive, focused on deflecting the truly absurd amount of bullets coming his way. He contemplates going airborne, the better to stay out of harm's way, but with the way his control over his voice is still shaky, it seems like more risk than it's worth.
He doesn't start when a few bullets slip through his defenses and pass disconcertingly close to his head, but his voice picks that moment to hitch in his throat as if on cue, his scream cutting out abruptly and forcing him to dive to keep from getting torn to pieces while he readies another. When another bark of rifle fire breaks out off to his right, though, it sends the soldiers scattering for cover and Sean jumps back to his feet to see Silver Fox wielding one of the dead soldier's Kalishnikovs to lay down suppressive fire.
Just in time for two trucks' worth of reinforcements to come rumbling down the street. Of course.
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So much for not killing anybody, Sean thinks, wincing to himself as he enters the fray too late to keep Creed from appearing and tearing out the throat of the nearest Russian soldier with that ridiculous manicure of his. A blow to the head plainly snaps the neck of a second, even as the other two punch a whole lot of holes in his hide with their rifles. There's nothing to do but leave them to his wrath, though, since Sean's garnering attention of his own, now, by the group still assembled loosely by the refueling station that Team X had evidently been going for.
He screams, blowing a pair of them back off their feet, though only one of them stays down. Then he's on the defensive, focused on deflecting the truly absurd amount of bullets coming his way. He contemplates going airborne, the better to stay out of harm's way, but with the way his control over his voice is still shaky, it seems like more risk than it's worth.
He doesn't start when a few bullets slip through his defenses and pass disconcertingly close to his head, but his voice picks that moment to hitch in his throat as if on cue, his scream cutting out abruptly and forcing him to dive to keep from getting torn to pieces while he readies another. When another bark of rifle fire breaks out off to his right, though, it sends the soldiers scattering for cover and Sean jumps back to his feet to see Silver Fox wielding one of the dead soldier's Kalishnikovs to lay down suppressive fire.
Just in time for two trucks' worth of reinforcements to come rumbling down the street. Of course.